Today was the day I had resolved to take the Durango in for its 3,000 mile service. I have to decide these things in advance because, frankly, I don’t like this particular chore.
It’s not that the guys at AvisLube aren’t friendly and competent — they are, and the whole process is set up to be as painless as possible, with Fox News showing on a widescreen TV, free coffee and soft drinks, and even a “business center” with free access to a computer and internet (but no wi-fi; what’s up with that?). They’ve even got a glass-in playroom for the kidwinks, complete with TV tuned to cartoons, I suppose to give moms a break, although I never see anyone else in there except men.
It’s just…well, to be honest, I feel intimidated when I take my car in for any kind of service. There, I’ve said it.
Now, I did my own oil and filter changing for more years than most of the guys who work at AvisLube have been alive. In fact, it was only when word finally reach west Texas that dumping used motor oil into the alley behind your house was frowned upon by certain segments that I stopped, and that word got to our neck of the woods pretty late.
Oh, there for a while I still changed it myself and then took the used oil to a local station where it was probably accumulated with the other do-it-yourselfers’ offerings and then dumped into an alley somewhere besides behind my house, but that got to be a messy pain and I decided just to pay someone else to do it. All that’s to say that I know my way around an oil pan and filter wrench…but, really, that’s about it, and I get nervous around mechanics who have advanced beyond those basic skills — which is pretty much everyone else.
I got to the lube joint around 8:30, was greeted by a polite young man, and I immediately did the First Stupid Thing of the morning. [Making it to 8:30 is grounds for claiming a moral victory, by the way.]
Him: Good morning! Time for an oil and filter change? (They look up your license plate in their computer as you pull in so they already know more about your car than you do before you open the door.)
Me: Yeah, and also, I’d like to go ahead and get an inspection sticker. I know I’m a little early but I don’t want to have to come back in next month…
Him [leaning over to peer at my windshield]: Uh…are you sure about that…?
Me: Oh, yeah. I don’t mind losing a month…
Him [pointing at the inspection sticker]: Well, you actually have seven months left on this one.
Me [reacting to the dawning realization of my FST]: Uh…well…I guess I was looking at the wrong sticker, wasn’t I? Heh. Never mind.
Him [in the tone that one takes when speaking to small children or SUV owners whose faculties are suspect]: Go right on inside, sir, and have a cup of coffee and we’ll take care of it. Still 35 pounds of air in the tires, right?
At that point he could have recommended filling my tires with weapons grade plutonium and I would have nodded in agreement. I went inside to wait for further self-inflicted indignities.
I don’t know how they do it where you are, but here it’s similar to sitting in a hospital waiting room, biding time until the doctor comes out to consult with you on the prognosis. In the case of AvisLube, this involves the technician bringing for your inspection at least two things: your car’s air filter, and a plastic card smeared with several splotches of fluid. You’re expected to study those items and provide him with instructions on how best to proceed.
Now, I wouldn’t expect a surgeon to bring out a newly-extracted spleen and consult with me on its condition; I’m not sure why these guys think I’m qualified to assess the condition of the various fluids leaking out of my eight year old Dodge. And it’s even worse if the schedule says that there are other things that have to be done, other more esoteric things, like refraculating the transaxillary impediment, or adjusting the capacitative diaphragm to original IEEE specifications.
So, generally, what I do is pretend to carefully inspect the offerings — for all I know, they have only one plastic card and it’s pre-fluidized each morning with a variety of flavored honey and the same card is shown to every customer — and slowly nod my head while intently searching the technician’s facial expression for some clue as to what the correct answer should be, all the while praying that the whole crew isn’t out in the work area, gathered around my car’s open hood and pointing and giggling about the primo dork who’s let a fine piece of machinery degenerate to such a sad state.
Fate was kind to me this morning, however, apparently feeling badly about springing such an embarrassing FST on me without a warm-up. The technician brought out the Plastic Card of Mysterious Fluids and the Durango’s floppy air filter, and said the words I always long to hear: “all your fluids look fine and you’re not due for any additional service.” YES!
However, there was still the matter of the air filter. Judging the appearance of an air filter is tricky, as you really don’t have a good baseline, or at least I can never remember it if I ever had one. Was it milky white when it was new, or was it more beigey? Darn my lazy ways…when would I ever learn to remove the filter each week, take a digital photo of it, and then study the progression of decay and dirtiness so I would be prepared for this inevitable test?
Or, I could just take the coward’s way out. When was the filter last changed?, I asked. He looked at The File (they know everything, as we established above). About 30,000 miles ago, he replied.
Taking command of the situation and reasserting my alpha-ness, I issued the order that would have brought the other men to their feet in applause had they not been off watching cartoons in the game room: Change it!
So, now I’m all set for another 3,000 miles. And, pretty soon now, I’ll go out into the garage and take a photo of my air filter.
Once I figure out how to open the hood.
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Sounds exactly like they do it here in these parts. I’ve decided never to be the one in charge of this particular chore anymore. I always flunked the air filter question. Either I said “change it” when it had just been changed the time before, or I said “no thank you” (with a look that said, “you don’t think I’m going to fall for your tricks this time, do you?”) when it had been 30,000+ miles since the last one.
Thanks for reminding me – Must check my stickers…
Eric, sometimes, when I’m not in the mood for the song-and-dance, I go next door to the convenience store, or walk around the block, so something (they have a good selection of magazines, but I never had much use for Faux News) … bottom line – sometimes I just have no patience for their schtick.
Keeping your own record of when something was done is also helpful … you’d be amazed how many times you have to get a new this or that or a quart of the other thing, by their schedule, which isn’t even remotely close to what the manufacturer recommends …
Sometimes, I just wish they were content with giving the customer what he wants … and letting it go at that …
The stamps you earn towards a free ten gallons of gas is a good incentive to keep coming back.
That’s okay Eric. Once I stood in the tax office and actually argued with the woman that I needed new tags. She finally suggested that it was probably the inspection sticker I needed.
You see, this is why I have a mechanic that I can trust and I always take the car to him, even for oil changes.
So I can (and do)say stupid things to him and he tells me graciously that I don’t know what the heck I’m talking about. Such as: back when we ran a car low on oil (I’m saying ‘we’ so I don’t implicate a certain spouse), I had him change it after only 2,000 miles. When I brought it in, after having nervously looked at the owner’s manual recommendations for the first time ever, I told him “make sure you use premium oil type SJ-#@%&! in that.” And he said “What? We always use high grade oil” (or something like that). Now when I take a car in for an oil change he says, “I’ll make sure to put the super duper premium plus oil in that, Jim.”
What a guy!
Well, I do take my vehicle in for an oil change, but I always use my husband as an “excuse” – ie, “I’ll have to ask my husband if he’s had that done” – it’s easier than arguing with them. Of course, my 7 year old Explorer has probably never had a new air filter!
Just for fun, next time take in some vials, syringe, and something that resembles the drug test kits you see on Cops and go busily about testing the oil. Might cause a minor panic or they’ll spit in your oil like food in a restaurant when you displease someone. Hey Jim, the super duper oil is pretty much the same as all the rest of the oil except it costs twice as much. The “Pro’s” at these oil change factories are trained to upgrade you. Or at least the oil and filters. If I could get upgraded I’d get my oil changed.
They have cartoons???
I mainly go because they vacuum the whole car and clean the windows.
Jim, was your mechanic named Puddy, by any chance. Oh, never mind; I forgot you don’t watch TV.
Toni, I’ll try that next time, although I can’t quite see how telling the guy I have to check with your husband is going to enhance my credibility.
On the other hand, it’s bound to work as well as Bob’s suggestion, which would probably just get me arrested. Especially if I kick things off like Patty did, and really argue with the guy about the inspection sticker.
Jeff, I’m pretty sure they’ve wised up by now and it’s 10 dollars worth of gasoline, instead of 10 gallons. But I’m not sure, since I have about eight of those cards stamped and have yet to use one. I’m waiting for gas to go to $5/gallon, at which point I’ll look either really smart or really dumb, depending on whether its dollars or gallons.
Wallace, I agree with you on that…the vacuuming alone is worth the trip. Plus, they don’t mess with my radio.
Yes, I’ve had those experiences too. One place in Houston really raked me with the claim that my wires were shot, they could replace my ignition cables. Oh, what a dolt I was! The next time the car was at the DEALER, they told me that junk wires had been put in, and that’s why the car was broken. I am the world’s doormat/sucker.
There, my confession is done. I have since done a better job of being the good car steward. Let the pros handle it, and stay away from the cheapo depots.
but I never had much use for Faux News
Oh, I almost forgot to point this out to those readers who don’t know Jeff. He’s an employee of NBC.
We’re all about full disclosure here at the Gazette, you know. 😉
Oh, and I also want to make it clear that this post is in no way intended to be a criticism of AvisLube. I think they do good work at a fair price and I take both of our vehicles in for their regular check-ups, even the one that’s still covered by a factory warranty (primarily because I don’t want to drive to Odessa for the same service, because that’s where the service is now done, despite the fact that the Midland dealership we purchased the car from assured us that they would be able to do the maintenance even though it had been announced that this particular franchise would be re-locating to Odessa, but that’s another rant for another day, after I’ve taken a few deep breaths and perhaps a Prozac or two).
I certainly don’t want anyone to leave with the impression that I think they’re less than in any way whatsoever, because I don’t.
hilarious. Out here in the sticks where I live now we don’t have any AvisLube, but we do have some other franchise whose name escapes me at the moment. So far they haven’t tried any of those routines on me.
But last time in he did try to sell me 11 acres of farmland outside of Ranger (ag exemption, very low taxes, water and electricity); a 35-foot travel trailer (2 slideouts, only used on one trip); and an old rusted Dodge pickup (a commentary on the vehicle I drove in?). I did break down and buy a box of Thin Mints he was selling for his daughter.